


It's Not Much, But It's Home

by windsorblue



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-04
Updated: 2007-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/pseuds/windsorblue





	It's Not Much, But It's Home

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
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[angst](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/angst), [fic](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [fma](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/fma), [gracia](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/gracia), [hughes](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/hughes), [hughes/gracia](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/hughes%2Fgracia)  
  
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**(fic) (FMA) It's Not Much, But It's Home (Hughes/Gracia)**   
_   
written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/het_challenge/profile)[**het_challenge**](http://community.livejournal.com/het_challenge/)  
\- recipient: penguins! at the disco, who turned out to be [](http://sheepfairy.livejournal.com/profile)[**sheepfairy**](http://sheepfairy.livejournal.com/)  
\- prompt: "a sense of home"  
\- warnings: angsty 

Elicia worried about her mother, living by herself in that tiny old house. The windows groaned and rattled when the wind blew strong and the roof leaked when it rained. Mother put her copper-bottom pots and old glass pickle jars on the floor to catch the rainwater, and Elicia worried that she might trip over one of them. She could fall and hurt herself, break a bone, maybe her hip. What if she hit her head? What if she couldn't call out for help?

 _"I know it isn't much, honeybunch, but..."_

 _"Nonsense - I love it."_

 _"It needs a little work, but..."_

 _"That just means we get to make it truly ours."_

 _"Just you wait until I get promoted. We'll get a bigger place, something with a couple more bedrooms for all the kids we're going to have."_

 _"I think it's just the right size, actually - nice and cozy."_

 _"And a bigger yard, so we can get a dog..."_

 _"Maes." Gracia put two fingers over his mouth - stopped him from talking - and smiled. "I said, I love it."_

 _He smiled back. "Yeah?"_

 _She nodded-smiled, and he kissed her._

Elicia tried - over and over, how she tried - to get her mother to move out. To move in with her, maybe; let Elicia take care of her in her golden years; to move into an apartment closer to town, near the doctor's office and the hospital. Just in case. Somewhere closer to people her own age.

Mother wouldn't hear of it. Every time Elicia brought it up, Mother changed the subject. So then Elicia would try to convince Mother to at least buy a few new things - replace the scratched-up table in the kitchen; get rid of that saggy couch Mother and Daddy had picked up in a secondhand store before Elicia had even been born.

"I like that couch," Mother would say. "I like that table. You can get rid of them after I'm gone," Mother would say; and then Elicia would sigh, and ask Mother to please not talk like that.

 _"Someday, honey, we'll have furniture that somebody else didn't own first."_

 _"Hush, Maes - what are antiques if not things someone else owned first?"_

 _"I thought antiques were supposed to be nice..."_

 _Gracia slapped Maes lightly on the arm, and Maes pretended that it hurt until she kissed it better._

Elicia didn't understand why Mother was clinging to it all so fiercely. When Mother said that sometimes when she sat down on that couch it felt like Daddy was there with her - Elicia thought her mother might be going a bit senile, and began to worry about what might happen if Mother forgot to turn the stove off one day, or left the house without locking the door.

Elicia brought all of her concerns up to her mother - one by one, written in longhand on little bits and scraps of paper before they'd been organized into a single long list. Elicia had perfectly logical, sound reasons for each and every one of her concerns. And when Elicia was finished, Mother nodded in her polite-but-not-listening way and said simply, "This feels like home to me."

 _Asleep on the couch again, and with the baby, too - fast asleep on his chest, little ear tuned into his heartbeat - with one of his long-fingered hands resting on the baby's back. Gracia watched the two of them napping and wished things could always be like that - with baby Elicia napping quietly on Maes' chest - and knowing that things would not always be like that. Someday Elicia would grow up, become a teenager; someday the two of them would find each other arguing over things like curfews and boyfriends, and more than likely each would turn to Gracia and expect her to be on 'their' side._

 _That's alright, Gracia thought. Arguments happen, Gracia thought. It won't be the end of the world. It won't be the death of anyone._

Elicia didn't want to argue about it - not again - and so she bid her mother goodnight and went back to her own home, her own family, her own life. She went back to worrying without saying anything, until the next time the worrying became too much to hold back anymore. And as the door closed behind her, Gracia sank onto the couch that had sat in her living room for - how many years, now? Thirty-five? Forty? - and curled into the armrest as best as she could, even though her knees were stiff now, and harder to bend. Gracia closed her eyes and smelled the faded scent of Maes' soap, his cologne, in the fabric. That scent was her secret - no one else knew it was there anymore - and she smiled and then sighed.

"She just doesn't understand," Gracia said quietly. And in her ear, she could hear Maes tell her it was going to be fine. "This is my home," Gracia said, and with her eyes closed she could feel the way he used to caress her when she was upset, his long-fingered hands gentle on her arms, holding her close - safe - to his chest, his heart beating under her ear.

With one of the cushions clutched to her, she drifted off to sleep and dreamed of how it used to feel to make love to him.  



End file.
